


Part 3: Our Heroes Discover They Are Not Alone

by orphan_account



Series: A Good Idea [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, Breaking and Entering, Drinking, Epic Bromance, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dorian and Cullen sneak into the Inquisitorial quarters, a surprising pair await them.  A prank, a telling off, and a lot of drinking follow. A series of interludes between everyone's favourite Tevene and everyone's favourite ex-Templar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part 3: Our Heroes Discover They Are Not Alone

There is a shuffle in the dark apartment, and someone giggles and says “Shite.”

Dorian smiles over the ball of flame he appears to be holding.  “It seems that we are not the first to have this idea.” he whispers.

Cullen looks over his shoulder from where he stands, just ahead of Dorian on the staircase. “Yes,” he whispers back, and then doubletakes the fireball “Do you have to do that?  When you said you’d light the way, I thought you had a candle!”

“For the love of… stop being such a prude!” Dorian hisses back, then sighs, extinguishing the fireball.  “Lucky for you we already did the hard part. Don’t you want to find out who it is?”

“Come on, Dorian,” Cullen doesn’t bother lowering his voice any longer “no-one else says ‘shite’ quite like that.”

They shuffle forward in the moonlight, into the room, and Cullen says “Sera.  We know you’re here.”

“No you don’t.  I could be anyone.”

“Ugh.” Dorian huffs and folds his arms impatiently, “Just come _out_ , you idiot.”

She emerges from under the bed, hair and clothes dishevelled.  “Okay, don’t shoot, alright? I’m out.  Free passage while his royal whatsits away, yeah?  For both of us?”

Dorian and Cullen look at each other; Cullen slightly horrified, Dorian resigned.  It’s Dorian who answers “Yes, free passage for you and… you.” He nods to the other girl, also emerging from under the bed.  “As long as you only messed up the bed, and didn’t drink any of the mead.”

“Ooh, Dorian! I didn’t know His Royal Nibs kept mead in here! Come on, come on, just a bottle, I’ve got a long night ahead of me.” With that, she brandishes a long-dead snake, and taking the hand of the other girl, waves both in the air. “Lady Fancy-Blue-Pants’ desk is next!”

He sighs loudly, and unfolding his arms, starts walking towards the desk in the corner. “Just don’t go messing that up like you messed up the bed.”

“Right, right.” She walks toward the window, snake dangling around her neck now, still holding the taller girls hand.  Cullen thinks he recognises her from the kitchens, or perhaps something to do with the gardens. “Pass it over then.”  
Dorian has been rummaging under the desk, and draws out a bottle, dark with dust and age.  He goes to Sera, and hands it to her with a little more force than is necessary. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

She titters and blows him a mocking kiss while helping her friend up onto the sill.  “Favours for favours, innit?  We weren’t here, and neither were you.  Two.”  She eyes Cullen suspiciously before secreting the bottle into an interior pocket and vanishing through the window and out over the walls.  

Dorian turns back to Cullen, a smirk pasted all over his features.  “The joke’s on her, really.” He sniffs and continues, “I gave her ritewine, from the Warden stash.  It said on the bottle ‘notes of blackberry and anger’.  Thought that might suit her.”

Cullen grins in disbelief, “You didn’t?”

“I did.  Look what they did to the bed!”

“Maker only knows what they did in the bed…”

“Don’t be so disingenuous.” He grins back at Cullen, “They put a snake in it, of course.”  He walks quickly past the bed, crossing to the other side of the room now, and vanishes into an alcove.  Cullen follows, mostly because he is beginning to have doubts about this plan, but also because he wants to affirm that the mead is still there.  Of course it is, two huge barrels.  Maker knows why it was felt the Inquisitor would need this much alcohol - but then again, knowing the stresses of his own work, maybe it was someone’s good idea.

 

“How do you get the mead from here,” Dorian looks disparagingly at the cask, “to here?” He waggles two earthen mugs that he’s ferreted from somewhere while Cullen was thinking.  Cullen purses his lips and looks at Dorian, astonished. “Oh, the privileged life you must have led.  Never even poured your own drinks..!” He takes a mug from the mages outstretched hand and holds it under the spigot.  “Like this.  Watch, because I’m not going to be your serving wench all night.”

“Well, I’m not totally helpless with a bottle, at least…”

“I had realised that.” He hands the full mug to Dorian, who switches it for the empty one he is holding and nods his thanks.  As Cullen is filling the mug, he can’t help but become a little self-conscious under Dorian’s gaze, and realises that this is the first time he’s been alone, truly alone, with him.  He shuffles his feet, watching the level of the mead rise in the cup, feeling suddenly awkward, not knowing what to say.

Dorian saves him.  After an experimental sniff, he takes a huge swallow of mead and begins coughing almost immediately.  Cullen looks quickly for a place to put his drink down safely and has to settle for the floor.  He takes a quick step toward Dorian, who is doubled over now, still coughing, though holding his cup steadily for all that, and claps him sharply on the back.  Dorian continues coughing, and Cullen does it again, then bends down and asks, with genuine concern, “Are you alright?”

Dorian slowly rights himself, his face red, rubbing his chest.  Once he has regained sufficient composure to speak, he looks at Cullen mock-annoyed.  “No thanks to you,” he rasps.  “What was that all about?  Felt like a small fortress landing on me.”

“That?” Cullen is genuinely surprised, and then snorts with suppressed laughter.  “That was me patting you on the back.”

“Really?  Well, you clearly need more opportunities to practice your soft hands” he moans, and tries to touch the spot on his back that Cullen swatted. “I think it’s broken.”

Cullen laughs aloud, the sudden fugue of awkwardness gone. “And that was just my gentle touch.” He sits on the floor, picks up his mead, gulping the sweetish liquor.  After a moments hesitation, Dorian joins him.  They sit on the hard stone, backs to the wall, drinking silently for a few moments, before Dorian clears his throat and, not looking at Cullen, says “Can I ask you something?”

Cullen is immediately on guard, but says “You can ask.”

Dorian pauses, and then, quickly, still not looking at Cullen says “Did you really think my idea was good?”

“Yes.” Cullen answers immediately.  He’s slightly surprised by the question initially, but can see why Dorian would ask after the reaction he received. “It’s an excellent idea.  The mages need training, even if only so that we can build our units into a cohesive force.  Now that I’ve heard it, there’s no way I’d want to do without it.  Not only will it strategically align our forces much better, it will improve morale amongst both our regular infantry and our… specialist forces.”  He’s beginning to feel a little drunk, so he continues “Actually I think that it was pretty badly handled - you had the idea, you should have been able to see it through.”

Dorian grunts, and swirls the remaining mead about in his cup.  “Ah, well.  At least they won’t be able to blame me if it all goes up in flames.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” Cullen is beginning to be annoyed with this train of thought, “But you could also say that you won’t get any credit for it if it goes right.  Which it will, because I’ll see to it that it does.” He clenches his jaw; really, he is more annoyed than he has any right to be. “Don’t sell yourself short, Dorian.  It’s boring.”

“ _Boring_?  Maker forbid I should _bore_ you.”  He raises an eyebrow at Cullen and grins sheepishly.  “Alright, I apologise.  Not for boring you, because you’ve bored me _countless_ times, but because…” he grimaces, “I was being self-pitying.”

Cullen raises his mug, and says “So, no more pity for the Tevinter Prince.”

Dorian moans and hangs his head, then raises his own mug “How many times, it’s _altus_.  Like a prince, but fancier, more magical, and far, far more dashing.  But...yes.  No more pity.”

“I’ll drink to that.”


End file.
